Yes/No

Joseph Campbell

Mystery

Prayer for Paris

John

I may not be Catholic, but I like this guy!

The Journey of the Magi given 1-4-15

                      Journey of the Magi

A cold coming we had of it,

just the worst time of year

for a journey, and such a journey:

The ways deep and the weather sharp,

The very dead of winter.

And the camels galled, sore footed, refractory,

Lying down in the melting snow.

There were times we regretted

The summer palaces on slopes, the terraces,

And the silken girls bringing sherbet.

Then the camel men cursing and grumbling

And running away, and wanting their liquor and women,

And the night fires going out, and the lack of shelters.

And the cities hostile and the towns unfriendly

And the villages dirty and charging high prices:

A hard time we had of it.

At the end we preferred to travel all night,

Sleeping in snatches,

With the voices singing in our ears, saying

That this was all folly.

Then at dawn we came down to a temperate valley,

Wet, below the snow line, smelling of vegetation;

With a running stream and a water-mill beating the darkness,

And three trees on a low sky,

And an old white horse galloped away in the meadow.

Then we came to a tavern with vine leaves over the lintel,

Six hands at an open door dicing for pieces of silver,

And feet kicking the empty wineskins.

But there was no information, and so we continued

And arrived at evening, not a moment too soon

Finding the place; it was (you may say) satisfactory.

All this was a long time ago, I remember,

And I would do it again, but set down

This set down

This: were we led all that way for

Birth or Death? There was a Birth certainly,

We had evidence and no doubt. I had seen birth and death,

But had thought they were different; this Birth was

Hard and bitter agony for us, like Death, our death.

We returned to our places, these Kingdoms,

But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation,

With an alien people clutching their gods.

I should be glad of another death.             -T.S. Eliot

The poem I've just read you is called "The Journey of the Magi", written by T.S. Eliot. In the poem, we get a vivid picture of the trials and tribulations of the so-called "Magi". But strangely enough, for a work of art dealing with such a traditionally joyous theme, the poem has always felt to me to be very sad. It's as if the teller of the tale was engaged in a great moment, a monumental piece of history, and somehow or other has lost the thread of what is going on.

What after all, did the Magi know about the Babe in the Manger?

Their stop off in the court of Herod shows that they had no real understanding

of the politics, much less the history or culture of Israel. They had no real idea who and what this Baby was. They were not Jews, so the promise of the Messiah was foreign to them. They were like actors who haven't read the script, spear carriers given torches to carry, trumpet players given the music for a violin solo.

These Magi, or Kings, or astrologers, or wise ones were goyim-- gentiles-- strangers who wore a different color of skin, and followed a different faith. They were probably Persians-- Zoroastrians-- followers of an ancient religion of Magic and witchcraft. So they were aliens from a different culture, strangers who spoke a different tongue-- outsiders. They really have no business in the story of the birth of the Jewish Messiah--no business at all. Unless-- unless that baby is more than a prophet, more than only King of the Jews, more than a national liberator, more than just a Messiah. Unless, unless… that baby has something to offer to all the nations and peoples. 

And if that is so, then these wise ones, or Magi, or kings, or astrologers or whoever and whatever they were do indeed have a place in His story. And it's a very important place indeed. Because it's our place-- yours and mine—it’s the place of all the nations and peoples of the world.

After all, what do you and I care if the King of the Jews was born in a stable two thousand years ago or so? Unless that Child is something to us, what's the difference? Unless the baby has a meaning and a ministry, a message for us-- the birth is meaningless.

And that's the real place of the Magi in the story. We need them to hold open a place for you and me-- in the story and at the manger. They remind the world that the Savior came for all. Outsiders and insiders, Jews and gentiles, rich and poor, old and young, men and women and children, LGBT and straight, brown and black and pink and tan-- He came for us all. 

These two or three or however many Magi there actually were, remind us that the baby's birth means that over two thousand years later, our lives can have meaning, purpose, and a vision of hope. The presence of the Magi shows that the baby in the manger is indeed Savior of the world, Deliverer of the nations, Ruler of all. Just as in the end it was never only those who professed the established faith of Israel who knelt before the cross, it was here at the begining not only the people of Israel who knelt before the manger.

Was King Herod there? No. He didn't even know what was going on.

"Star? What star? What are you guys talking about? King? What King? I'm the only king around here!" And when they showed him the star burning bright as sunlight-- the star he had somehow or other missed noticing-- his only thought was how to eliminate this potential political rival. And by the way, how was he going to get rid of these meddling busybodies?

Were the high priests and scribes there at the stable?  No. They could look up all the references in the Prophets to this happening. They knew where the birth was to take place.  But could they trouble themselves to follow the star? Could they bother to actually attend the birth, the Christ event, the coming of the so long awaited Messiah- -no. They could not be troubled.

So who actually was present at the birth? Outsiders, all of them. An unmarried teen-aged mom. A protector who wasn't even the father of the child. Shepherds--hirelings who were despised for following a way of life that did not allow them to keep the Laws of Moses-- always suspected of being thieves or worse-- outsiders within their own nation.

And of course, eventually these foreign astrologers showed up. Male or female, young or old—one, two, three or twenty--we don't know.  But we know that they were aliens and strangers in the land-- outsiders as well.

There's a very real sense of course, in which we are all of us outsiders in this life, in one way or another. We've all known what it is to feel excluded, shut out, different at least once in our lives-- and probably far more times than once.

We were just not "cool". We're nerds or loners—at least that’s the way it felt. We hung around with the wrong crowd in school.  Our skin is the wrong color. Maybe we’re even attracted to persons of the wrong gender.

We live in the wrong way. We grew up on the wrong side of the tracks. We came from the wrong nationality, We went to the wrong college or we didn’t make it to college. We follow the wrong profession, believe in the wrong ideals, speak the wrong language, talk to the wrong people at a party, get involved in the wrong relationships-- or at least it feels that way.

We all know what it is have regrets. We all know what it is to feel at times that we've messed up a situation, or a possibility or a responsibility or a relationship or even our whole life. We all know what it is to be ignored or ridiculed or wounded for no good reason other that we are somehow different. We're all outsiders in one way or another.

We're all outsiders when we allow those feelings to have power over us. We're all outsiders when we allow ourselves to be judged by someone else's criterion of acceptability, or success or popularity or happiness. We're all outsiders when we try to live our lives on someone else's terms instead of our own. 

We're all outsiders when we shut out those who genuinely care about us and pursue those people or goals that society dictates we should.  We're all outsiders when we try to live our lives according to the narrow values and so-called wisdom of this world. We're all outsiders when we live our lives wrapped  tight in swaddling clothes of self pity, separateness, alienation and loneliness.

Remember the last line of Eliot's poem?  "Were we brought all that way for birth or death?" Alongside the birth of the Christ child, the Magi had witnessed a death-- the death of old faith-- the death of old false contentment with the way things were-- the death of sin and broken-ness and alienation within-- the death of old life, old self, old world. It's clear. Just like that old astrologer, we must each of us die to self, before we can ever really begin to live.

And at that birth was yet another death. It was the death of superstition alongside the birth of spirituality. It was the death of intolerance alongside the birth of tolerance. It was the death of suspicion alongside the birth of trust. It was the death of the concept of outsider, alongside the newly born realization that we all are family—God’s family. It was the death of fate, alongside the birth of possibility.

Of course, those old ways of life, those old prejudices still have yet to be

laid to rest. Even today-- nearly two thousand years later-- their demonic power still haunts the world. But at that moment in that cold cave, their ultimate authority was broken forever. In the birth of that baby, was the birth of a new hope for the world—the last and greatest hope for the world.

It was the birth of a new vision. It was and is, the vision of the day to come in which every head shall be bowed, and every knee bent--when all peoples shall freely know the grace and acceptance of the One who made us all.  It will be the day when at last there will be no outsiders-- because we will all live in loving communion with the One who made us. It will be the day when justice shall flow down like waters, and peace like an ever-flowing stream.

On that long-awaited day in history as yet unwritten, that humble baby shall return as Cosmic Christ, reigning  in power and glory and triumph . On that day-- in our lives and spirits-- every heart shall be made new and God's New Commonwealth shall at last, come-- on earth as it is in Heaven.

That day is yet to come. It seems a very long way off sometimes. And yet it can come—It does come. It comes all the time-- in our lives. It comes whenever you and I choose to begin to live it out. It's that simple. Live with integrity. Live with hope.

Accept yourself, and share the Good News of God’s acceptance of us.  Live as a child of God's Commonwealth. And feel it being born within you.  Come to the Table. Come into the family.  Die. And live. It's that easy.  And it's hard as hell. But it will bring meaning and purpose and joy to you. It will make your life worth living.

Let us pray.

God of all joy, we give you thanks that in the Epiphany of your Son Jesus

Christ, you have shown us all the way to true life in you. You receive as your children all those who seek peace and righteousness, and you make your promise of eternal life to the humble, the merciful, the pure in heart of this world. Enable us, like Christ, to find our happiness in doing  your will, so that we too, may live to love and serve you forever. In His own holy name we pray. Amen.                     

                     

Good Luck Everyone - Blackadder - BBC

"Finding Christ" John Chrysostrom

"A Song and A Lament" given 12/28/14

This morning's reading from Luke's Gospel tells us the story of one of the very first significant events of Jesus' life here on earth--and it's the one that most of his followers are the least familiar with. interestingly enough, it's a typically Jewish event--his circumcision and presentation. The custom of circumcising male infants went far back into the history of the Jewish people--all the way back to Abraham and Isaac. We can read in the book of Genesis how this practice was instituted as a visible sign of the covenant between God and the chosen people Israel.

God said to Abraham, for your part, you must keep my covenant,

you and your descendants after you, generation by generation. This is how you shall keep my covenant between myself and you and your descendants after you.

Clearly, Mary and Joseph saw themselves as being within that historic faith tradition.  Naturally enough, they were anxious to comply as exactly as possible with the requirements of the Law of Moses and the customs of their people. The covenant between God and Israel must be maintained.

So, in accordance with the common practice, eight days after his birth, Mary and Joseph brought the infant Jesus to Jerusalem, to the Temple. Here, in the center of their faith, here the child would be ritually presented to God. There, in the temple, the family had an unexpected encounter.

Luke tells us they met Simeon--"righteous and devout" according to the Gospel. We don't much about Simeon, except that in recognition of his faithfulness, he had been promised by God that he would see the Messiah with his own eyes before he died.

Christian tradition has tried to fill in some of the gaps about Simeon. Some interpreters have tried to place him as a historical figure, Rabbi Simeon, who was son of the great Rabbi Hillel and father of Gamaliel, the mentor and teacher of Paul. But the truth is, the name was a common one. And in point of fact, it doesn't really matter. What matters is that he was there. And that he saw.

Can we imagine him there wrapped in his white and blue prayer shawl, phylacteries wrapped around his arms, head covered by a yamulke, a flowing white beard covering his chest?  Can we see him there? Bent over by the weight of years of waiting, his hands arthritic claws, his eyes nearly shut by the blindness of extreme old age, clad in a robe of gabardine?

 The very model of a pious, observant Jew--a model that lived two thousand years before his birth and still lives on today. The faithful keeper of the Laws of Moses-- awaiting expectantly the coming of the Messiah to redeem and to save the people Israel. 

Simeon must have been a formidable sight--even to Jews like Mary and Joseph who had been raised the same culture.

Simeon must have recalled the promise of that same Spirit many times throughout all the years leading up to that moment. He must have pondered and remembered---and doubted.  Could it truly have been God? Or might it have been his imagination? It had been so long ago--so many years--so many years. Had Simeon really been promised that he should live to see the Anointed One?

Every man or woman of God—Protestant, Catholic, Orthodox, Jewish, Buddhist, Hindu, faces and moment when he or she looks into the mirror and asks themselves---am I fool? Have I deluded myself these years? What has my life been worth? And then that person must answer that question from somewhere deep within, and either go on—or find something else to do with their life. That’s why thousands leave Protestant ministry every year—and the priesthood and the rabbiniate and the various orders.

That’s what Simeon had done—however long ago it had been. But it had been so long ago. And now he was so old--so old he barely remembered being anything but old. Yet Simeon still recalled the promise- -made so many prayers ago, so many sacrifices ago. He would see the Messiah. But he must have known it would have to be soon. He could not have long--sometimes they say you can tell when your time is running out.

Sometime soon--the long-awaited one would have to come soon or else Simeon's whole life would have been a joke. "Come Soon, O Lord", he must have prayed daily.

And this morning--something the old man could not quite put his finger on had led him to the Temple. It must have been after morning prayers--at a time when he not accustomed to being there. Why was Simeon there that time, that day? He ought to be home--preparing his midday meal.

Luke tells us that the Holy Spirit had brought Simeon there to the Temple that day, at that time. Perhaps he was about to leave, when something caught the old man's eye.  A poor young couple--bringing their newborn son to the Temple for the requisite sacrifice.  Simeon must have seen literally tens of thousands of such young families in all his years.

Gestalt Psychology tells us that what we perceive about a given scene is determined by our interest.  We organize what we see into a pattern and pick out a single element that is most important to us.  That becomes the foreground of our attention--all else becomes background.  What made this particular couple, this particular baby jump out of the background and grab center stage of the old man's attention?

Some people of course, are always drawn to a newborn. They make funny noises and want to hold the child, admire it, and play with it. And parents, especially first-time, brand-new parents like Mary and Joseph get used to that. They soon come to appreciate such events as a compliment to the patently obvious beauty of their child. But this--this was something different.

Somehow, it's difficult to picture Simeon as the sort of  sweet old duffer who stops to  flirt with every baby he encounters on the street. That wasn't what this encounter was about. This was something different. And Mary and Joseph must have sensed that--something was going on. This was not ordinary admiration of a pretty child.

It must have been downright unsettling. This formidable old man, half- drunk on religious fervor was picking up their baby! Would he drop it? New parents always think that no-one else in the entire world knows how to hold a baby but them. How could they gracefully get the baby out of the old fellow's arms as quickly as possible? O God, please don't let him drop the baby!

As he held this baby he felt so strangely drawn to, an unusual feeling must have come over Simeon. Perhaps a feeling of peace. A certainty that this was the one. After all those years of waiting, all those prayers, all his hopes and despair, the child had come. There must have swelled in the old man's breast a sureness and a sweetness that you and I cannot even imagine.

The waiting was over. The promise had been fulfilled. This was the one. It had all been worth it. Thank you Lord, for letting me live to see this.

And standing there, holding the child, Scripture says that a song swelled up inside him. When he could no longer bear it, the song burst forth from the old man.

At last, at long last O God,

 you can dismiss your servant in peace!

As you have promised me, As you have promised me,

I have seen with my own eyes your Salvation!

You have made it ready for every people--

a light to enlighten the Gentiles

and to bring glory to your people Israel.

Then the old man looked back toward the child's parents. No doubt he could literally see the concern and the happiness on their faces. They did not understand of course, but they knew this holy man had singled out their child for a special blessing, a tremendous honor. And his heart overflowing with joy, Simeon blessed them as well.

Then, just as he was handing the baby back to his mother, his eyes must have locked with Mary's. And something Simeon saw there must have given him pause. Perhaps he recalled that line from Isaiah about the stripes of the Suffering Servant healing Israel. Perhaps he had a flash of prophecy--or of insight into human nature. In any case, the old man saw something in Mary's face--in her eyes. It was a long way off, but it was there so plainly that he could not pretend.

"Behold, this child is destined to make many fall and many rise in Israel, and to set a standard which many will attack. For he will expose the secret thoughts of many hearts." And looking into those mother's eyes again, a great feeling of pity must have touched him. "And as for you, a sword will pierce through your soul."

No doubt the old man would rather have bitten his tongue off than said it. But he was in the Temple, the Holy Place of Israel. And Simeon had no choice--he had to speak. Then he handed Mary her the baby and departed, in something less than the perfect peace the old man had dreamed of for all those years.

These last words strike a radically different note to the Nativity story preceding them. Yet, they are the real consequences of the birth of the Babe of Bethlehem in this world. It is easy, all too easy to look at the Christmas story and see only those traditional, beautiful element--the Baby lying in the humble manger, the shepherds, the angels, the star, the kings and their gifts.

But sooner or later, kings must return to their kingdoms. Shepherds must return to their flocks, angels go back to heaven and stars recede in the sky. And babies, by their very nature, grow up. It is easy for us to see the Babe, lying in the manger. But it's far harder for us to realize that the little Prince of Peace would one day grow up to be the Redeemer who would bring not only peace, but first a sword. A sword to pierce our very souls.

It’s far harder to read the prophecies of John that one day this cooing baby will one day return to judge Israel and the world. It's easy to view the infant in the manger--but we cannot forget that the manger lies always in the shadow of the cross.

Simeon was right. Had they known who he was, there were doubtless many in Israel, who like Herod, would have killed the child. And had there been in their day a holiday like our contemporary Christmas--a pleasant, cheerful, materialistic solstice celebration unrelated to any of the drastic issues of this life, those same folks would have probably gladly participated in it..

But the man Jesus was another thing altogether. His ministry, his very life antagonized all that they were determined to defend.  He set up principles for living which would upset the status quo they were so involved in. They had no compunctions about killing Him when the time came.

In order for us to honestly call ourselves His followers, we cannot stop with the sentiment of Christmas. You and I must wrestle with not only the meaning of his birth, but also with his life, his teachings, his death on the cross for the sins of the world. 

Jesus does not only come to us as an appealing child in a manger scene. Jesus also comes to us with the demands of faith and discipleship. He comes to force us to make hard decisions about how we will live and be in the world. And those decisions if we take them seriously, will compel us to review and reshape our hearts, our lives, our very selves.

He comes, and calls us to renounce things like selfishness and greed, power and hatred. He comes, and calls us to stand up against things like prejudice, war, racism and sexism. He comes, and calls us to stand up for things like kindness, and mercy, caring, justice and freedom from oppression. Simeon was right. His call will indeed be a sword that will pierce our very souls.

It's never really easy to face the full implications of following the Christ.

"But who may abide the day of His coming?"  wrote Malachai the Messenger, last of the Old Testament prophets. And as Jesus Himself asks us,

"When the Son of Humanity comes, will he find faith on earth?"  I would invite each of us, in our own hearts, sometime during the remaining days of this holy season, to find a quiet moment to ask ourselves, "When the Son of Humanity comes, will he find faith in me?"

Let us pray,

O God who loves us like an Eternal Parent, your own Son Jesus became a human being to claim us men and women as sisters and brothers. Make us one with Him, that we might enjoy your love, and live to serve you as He did, who now rules with you and the Holy Spirit, one God in glory forever.                                                                         Amen.